Kindling
by Oparu
Summary: Post Attached. Jean-Luc goes through Pon Farr. He and Beverly have to make a choice. written for Jackie and Kristin


The turbolift sealed him in like a coffin. Jean-Luc Picard had been in smaller places for longer periods of time. Escape pods, dig sites, Jefferies tubes; none of them had given him pause before. This morning, the turbolift closed in around him like a brightly lit prison. He wanted to pace, and the temptation to wear the floor by indulging the impulse nagged him. He was a Starfleet captain, and pacing in his own turbolift was not a sign of a well mind.

The lift stopped prior to the bridge. Had he really only ridden a few decks? The doors opened without his notice. Someone, female by the look of her boots, walked on next to him. He could smell the soft, almost citrus smell of her hair. He knew the smell.

Beverly had walked on; the elegant legs he'd been so drawn to were hers. If she'd noticed, she said nothing, and gave him a small smile. "Good evening, captain."

She must have been at rehearsal, they'd been using the secondary lounge on deck three. Gaping at her wordlessly because his artificial heart was racing in his chest was inappropriate. Jean-Luc had to say something. He could ask her about the play. He muttered the question, making an effort to keep his words audible. He couldn't look away from her but he couldn't look at her. He was smitten, fascinated and deeply--

He wasn't.

He couldn't be. There was no logical way he could be that drawn to the gentle red of her lips or the swish of her hair as it fell down her shoulder. He was her friend, nothing more, and he should not be looking at her breasts. No matter how well her simple blue top clung to them. Her collarbones were exquisite.

Beverly calmly explained how Will's turn as the playboy was going. Deanna thought she was typecasting and relentlessly teased her. Lieutenant Foster would be perfect as the innocent hero. Or Hero, he realised as she explained it was 'Much Ado About Nothing'.

"Shakespeare?" she asked, beaming wickedly. "You know, English guy, dead for year? You keep his book on your desk."

"I'm sure it will be one of the best you've done," he replied with a smile that felt like a grimace. Hopefully it didn't appear to be so. "Shakespeare gives you such freedom with setting and costuming."

"Exactly!" Beverly agreed cheerfully, her smile widening. She titled her head towards the door. "I'm on my way to sickbay, I believe this is your stop."

"Right," he said, tugging his uniform jacket. "Forgive me, I must have gotten carried away with the company."

"Flattery might get you a front row seat," she replied, amused. "Unless you've reconsidered and decided to play the father. I think you'd be incredible. So...paternal and disapproving."

"Goodnight Beverly," it was his voice but he wasn't aware of saying it.

Part of his mind was on autopilot and desperately trying to keep him from touching her. Grabbing her...then...what? What was it he really wanted? Beverly had made her position clear. He loved her and she wasn't ready. She was afraid. He remembered the chill was of fear that crept out of her heart when he'd admitted his feelings on Kesprytt. They still held each other in orbit, together, but not. Never touching, they were locked in a dance that never grew closer, no matter how much he longed for her. She was afraid and that kind of cold, nauseating fear took time and patience. Jean-Luc was a patient man. He'd loved her for nearly two decades, a few months, another year; he could wait.

At least, he'd thought he could.

Her eyes had such light in them when she teased him. They burned blue into his soul and only sheer force of will got him to take a step. How could he look away? Forcing himself off the turbolift was agony; he waited for the lift to shut before he allowed himself to take another step. Walking quickly, he didn't want to admit he was fleeing the possibility of following her, Jean-Luc rushed to his quarters. Stripping off his oppressive uniform jacket, he tore of his trousers a moment later. He needed to run or fight, something to take his mind off of the long line of Beverly's neck and the delicious idea of running his fingers down her skin.

Sitting on the bed to lace up his running shoes after changing into his shorts, Jean-Luc tried not to bounce his leg. When had he become nervous? Was it nerves? Why did the idea of stopping in her quarters, walking up to her and--

He couldn't allow those thoughts. Grabbing a towel and returning to the turbolift, he closed his eyes. He'd never even kissed her. His duplicate had and there were moments, last night came to mind, when he was bitterly jealous. He'd had her lips on his skin, been intimately close to her, but he'd never kissed her. Beverly had kissed him, and one night, late and too far into the second bottle of wine, she'd admitted that she'd liked it. He'd felt that in her mind on Kesprytt; a singular twinge of victory.

The holodeck was empty and as he stood alone in the gold and black grid, Jean-Luc dropped his towel and ordered the South African Marathon. The Lions were usually near the waterhole in the ninth mile and he was so worked up he'd make it at least that far. The holographic air took on a spicy dryness of the Savannah. To his far left, a giraffe walked lazily through the trees. The dirt and gravel crunched beneath his feet as he moved onto the track. He flexed his feet, stretched his muscles in a slow, familiar pattern. The giraffe continued to eat, munching contentedly on the leaves with its long tongue.

Jean-Luc glanced down the track, a winding, twisted road through the heart of wildlife preserves. He felt like one of them. Tonight, when he could have been reading, he belonged here with the beasts. Lifting his arms, he began to run.

* * *

"Lungworms?" she asked, shaking her head and dropping her hand to the desk. The PADD contained within her slender fingers clanked loudly against the glass and if it had been anyone but Selar, they would have jumped back from the sound. Beverly sighed, letting go of the PADD and raising her hand to the centre of her forehead. When she'd brushed her hair back and looked up, Selar was waiting for her.

"The entire away team?" she continued, lifting the PADD back up to read it properly. "A biological survey team managed to break protocol, contract lung worms and all fail to report it until they were in the second stage? Are they aware that stage two of Parynegalian Lungworms involves the creatures crawling up their tracheas and trying to escape?"

"They are now, Doctor," Selar intoned calmly. "Ensign Mois is responding well to treatment. Lieutenants Foster and Sulvakis and Ensign Aracii are not responding as well. I predict they will need another round of antibiotics and gorycimhycin to prevent the possibility of secondary infection."

"Thank you," Beverly sat back, closing her eyes for a moment. "Please inform the entire team that they require additional training in away team biosafety protocol. Make sure they report for your next lecture of biohazards."

"You are aware the next planned lecture is an entire day," Selar replied dryly. Beverly had known her long enough to recognise the lift of her eyebrow as amusement.

"Is it?" she asked innocently, picking up another PADD. "Too bad."

"They may indeed find it regrettable," Selar said, still 'smiling on the inside', as Beverly wondered if she did. "I have been told I am very thorough."

"One of your finer qualities," Beverly quipped, turning in her chair to make the order to attend part of each one of their files.

"Perhaps," Selar finished, leaving Beverly to her work.

She scrolled leisurely through the current Starfleet Medical Journal, this issue concentrated on the evolution of viruses in the current area of space travel. Sickbay had been quiet, Doctor Skioshi had an fascinating theory of RNA mutation leading to the superior protein coat of Leutscher virus. She was halfway through reading how Skioshi had tried to replicate the mutation when he cleared his throat.

It would have to be Jean-Luc; Will might have teased her for fidgeting with her stylus, and anyone on her staff would have used her title. Jean-Luc preferred to wait until she looked up. He stood at attention in the door, ramrod straight, even though her rank didn't require it.

"Do you have a moment, Doctor?" he asked formally, waiting for her to offer the chair before her desk before he sat down.

She waved at the chair. He was tense, even by his standards, and that brought her a moment of concern. "Something I can help you with, Captain?"

Jean-Luc swallowed instead of answering. He rested his hands on his knees, then entwined his fingers; finally he had to cross his arms over his chest. "I went running."

"All right," Beverly answered with soft smile. "Running is excellent exercise. Do you want a medical commendation in your file?"

He nearly smiled, but seemed to force it away. His lips twisted back into a line. Jean-Luc sighed. "When I was a freshman, I won the Academy marathon. I've thought my academy days were the best shape I've ever been in."

"And you've been running marathons again?" she taunted. Maybe she could steal that smile back.

Jean-Luc nodded, hazel eyes oddly unfocused, as if he couldn't meet her gaze. "I beat my old time," he said, frankly astonished.

"Today?" she asked, reaching for her tricorder out of reflex.

"This morning," he said, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward with his elbows on her desk. He rested his head in his hands and Jean-Luc still couldn't look her in the eye. "Before my shift on the bridge. I'm not even sore."

Beverly tilted her head, surprised. "Could be adrenaline," she nodded at him, still cheerful. Looking from the desk up at her as she circled him, Jean-Luc sighed. His hangdog expression suggested he was expecting some grievous diagnostic.

"Elevated levels of testosterone, serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin..." she read from the tricorder and then paused, leaning against the glass of her desk. "Have you been doing anything else out of the ordinary? Eating or sleeping strangely?"

Jean-Luc still couldn't look at her eyes. He only raised his head part way and his usually intense eyes had that faraway look. What was it? What was he thinking?

"I've been eating normally," he said with a shrug. "Or at least, nothing odd or out of the ordinary." Jean-Luc tilted his head, pondering the question. "I don't know if it's important." He looked down at his hands, then finally added, "I've been dreaming."

"Oh?" Beverly's lips formed a neat circle and her eyebrows raised. "Anything good?"

Confessing that he dreamed about her hair tumbling down across her naked shoulders as she rode him to their mutual release would not be appropriate. Grabbing her arm and pulling her into his lap would be unseemly. The fact that he was barely avoiding the latter and completely aroused by the former did not bode well for the rest of the conversation. It wasn't enough that she was here with him, so close that he could touch her. Jean-Luc needed to touch her. He felt the ache to have his hands on her naked skin the same way he wanted his next breath. She was part of him and avoiding their physical connection was an agony akin to tearing off his own arm.

"They are quite vivid," he said, falling into autopilot again. "Is there a medical explanation?"

Beverly touched his shoulder, leaning in a little. "Jean-Luc, we've known each other a long time. You can be honest with me. Are you seeing anyone?"

Her fingers on his shoulder sent an electric charge through his body. He was acutely aware of the placement of each one of them.

"Seeing?" he choked on the word. Jean-Luc wanted to tug at his collar and release some of the heat attacking his neck.

"In a romantic way," she asked, her tricorder still open and running. "Some of these hormonal changes, and increased energy, could come from being in a sexual relationship."

His mind caught the word sexual and held it, as if he could turn it into a prayer. "I'm afraid our camping trip is the closest I've had to a date for the last few months." Why was he thinking of the planet? She'd said no. She'd meant no.

"I'd like to run a cortical scan," Beverly said, smile fading a little. Her forehead tightened and her expression became all business. "It's probably nothing, but this will only take a moment. If you're lucky, you'll have some weird new disease that I'll be able to masterfully cure and we can name after you. Picard's Neurochemical Syndrome."

"That might get you published in the Starfleet Medical Journal," he joked back. The effort of being humorous was rewarded with a new smile from her.

"It just might," she agreed, with that damn hand returning to his shoulder. This time he imagined it sinking through his uniform and touching his skin. Jean-Luc floated on that thought all the way to the biobed.

* * *

Deanna's arrival frequently brought a veil over the minds in the room. She'd initially found it off-putting, as if everyone hurried to cover their imagined nudity in front of her prying eyes. Her mother had explained that they were human, and they couldn't help themselves. The reflex lessened as she grew to know the people around her, and this time as she walked into sickbay the minds around her were open, especially, and most strangely, the captain's.

He was simply not interested in her. His eyes didn't move from Beverly as she continued speaking with him gently. The knot of worry in the doctor's mind felt like a stone in the smooth sand of the beach, and Deanna nudged it with gentle fingers. Much like the beach, pushing sand away only revealed more and more of the stone. Whatever was wrong, went deep. Steeling herself by finding her centre, Deanna put on her own soft smile and let Beverly and the captain acknowledge her.

Selar appeared a moment later, and her mind was agitated for a Vulcan. Deanna reached in, peering across the gently rippled surface and realised the Vulcan was embarrassed. Something had made her distinctly uncomfortable and though she was dealing with it admirably, Selar must have wanted nothing more than to retreat into meditation. Her dark eyes met Deanna's and a slight nod cemented her appraisal.

"Counselor," Selar said.

"Deanna, thank you for coming," Beverly added, turning only slightly from the captain. She was nearly as focused as he was, but where his thoughts were tumultuous, Beverly's were concerned. She was calm, using the enforced quiet she dredged up when her position demanded it. Like the tranquil beach Deanna had imagined before, Beverly's mind was vaguely controlled, and her fear was beneath.

In sharp contrast, the captain's were a torrent. Raging over the rigid barriers he maintained so well, his emotions demanded his attention. The more Deanna let down her shields, the more the need in him overwhelmed her. Picard's neatly ordered universe had been torn, ripped to shreds and remade with emptiness at the centre. Something was missing, and the need to fill the void pulsed through him. Like a lake of fire, his desire radiated heat. Had he been anyone else, Deanna would have wondered how he managed to sit so placidly while his thoughts were screaming for action.

"I don't know how to explain this delicately," Beverly began, looking down at Jean-Luc's knees before bringing her eyes back up.

"The captain is suffering from the Pon Farr," Selar interrupted, calmly defeating her own embarrassment to save Beverly hers. "We believe the meld with Ambassador Sarek may have fundamentally altered the captain's brain chemistry in such a way that he now produces two Vulcan neurotransmitters, haephaetosyne and cupercytosyne. The quantities present in his amygdala are not enough to be noticed on a routine brain scan, nor affect his brain function under ideal circumstances."

Were the captain's eyes down because he was surrounded by women? Was that the restraint he had clamped across himself? The need to mate was one of the most primal, and if it were amplified to the intensity of a Vulcan 'blood fever', even Picard's control would not be enough.

As if feeling her thoughts, his eyes flicked up and the wash of grey indifference slipped over his mind again. She was not his mate and he did not care if she existed or not, that was clear-cut in his mind. Relieved that it would be easier to treat him, Deanna tried to sidestep the firestorm of desire and find some sign of the mate occupying his thoughts.

"I didn't notice it in any of his physicals," Beverly added to Selar's explanation. "It's been almost four years since his meld with Sarek, and I found no sign of it whatsoever. It took a fourth level neural scan to detect the minute changes in his brain that allow him to even produce Vulcan neurotransmitters."

"It's all right, Beverly," the captain assured her. His voice was low and soft. His eyes were focused again back down on his knees as he sat on the biobed. Beverly touched his shoulder in response and Deanna went weak in the knees. Desire- the kind of unbarred, rampant desire that went directly to her sex and ached there- rushed out in a flood. If he'd been surrounded by Betazoids, all would have flushed.

"What are his options?" Deanna asked Selar when no one else offered the question.

"It is most likely that the captain must resolve the Pon Farr or he will die," she answered. "He is not Vulcan and methods of meditation will not help him. In the next eight days, he must battle to the death or he must mate. A human would have the most chance of success in a mating. If there is not female on board that he finds suitable, we may be able to put him in stasis and proceed to Vulcan. The temple of T'Panit has priestesses specially trained in the rite of the blood fever. He will be well treated there."

She hadn't known that, and the mild surprise was enough to drag Deanna back to the moment and out of thoughts of copulation. "And that would be effective?" she asked.

Beverly and Selar shared a glance and Deanna read it easily. There was a problem, something they needed her to soften - or else they would not have brought her.

"It may," Beverly explained neutrally. "It may not. I have little experience with Pon Farr and Selar told me-"

"It is better if the mating carries an emotional bond," Selar finished for Beverly. She shifted her weight, which was the closest a Vulcan came to fidgeting and Deanna felt her smooth her embarrassment beneath logic once again. "The captain is human; he experiences his emotions. Ignoring their importance may result in an incomplete formation of the mating bond and the blood fever will continue."

Nodding to Selar, Deanna manoeuvred herself between Beverly and the captain. As she suspected, the flames cooled. Deanna was not of interest to the captain, and the radiant desire he felt for Beverly faded to frustrated longing the moment they broke contact.

"How do you feel?"

"Not very Vulcan," the captain replied dryly. His skin was flushed, and when Deanna let her hand float over his she felt the fever Selar had mentioned. "It may be best to attempt stasis."

"Jean-Luc--" Beverly's tone was urgent, but forcibly light. "We don't even know if that will work."

The captain looked down again, burying his agonising desire beneath a damp fog of desperation. "Worf or Data could safely fight me to the death," he suggested. "I could be revived."

Beverly rolled her eyes in disgust and suddenly became unable to look at him.

"You do not need to decide now, Sir," Selar reminded him. "If your neurotransmitters follow their amplification curve, you have three more days."

"Plenty of time," he replied, but his throat was tight. The cool dampness he was forcing on himself wasn't enough to stop the fire, or even hold it back. "Vulcan is only eight or nine hours at maximum warp."

"Is that your decision then?" Beverly pressed, moving closer to the biobed. "You'll go against Selar's suggestion?"

Being between the two of them made the hair on the back of Deanna's neck stand on end. She'd heard her father describe lightning storms, Betazed was too wet not to have rain, but they happened on Earth. Like standing in one of his stories, Deanna felt the tension build around her.

The captain's head snapped over, and his eyes fixed on her before he spoke. "Beverly--"

She reached around Deanna, taking his hand. "What if it doesn't work?"

Their contact released a wave of emotion like a crackling of electricity. It was so intense that Deanna wondered if Selar shared the sensation. How could she miss it? Surely it was palpable? She needed chocolate, or a drink. Will also flashed through her mind and she couldn't help thinking he must share her bursts of vicarious arousal.

"Then I shall try something else," the captain argued with her.

Moving closer, Beverly displaced Deanna and stood directly in front of the captain. She looked to Deanna, something resolute behind her eyes. "Can you give us a moment?"

"Of course," Deanna nodded, backing away. Selar followed her and when Beverly turned to face him, they were alone.

Looking down at him, her jaw set, she squeezed his hand. Beverly could feel the fever heating his skin already. "Permission to speak freely?" she asked lightly, trying to draw smile onto his face. His expression could have been carved in stone, but he nodded minutely. "Stop being an idiot," she said, only slightly above a whisper.

"Beverly-" the protest died on his lips as she leaned closer to him. His breathing grew ragged up and the seed of an idea that it was because of her shivered through her stomach.

"You'll try something else?" she demanded, gaining intensity. What was he thinking? Death was better than accepting help? "What else? Dying?"

Jean-Luc could barely look at her but she was so close there was nowhere else for his eyes. "I don't think--"

"You'd have Will fly us all the way to Vulcan so you can 'mate' with a Vulcan Priestess you have no intention of ever seeing again when it might not solve the problem in the first place?" she asked. Her tone was far more bitter than she intended. The source of her venom wasn't something she wanted to own in her heart. She had no right to be jealous.

"If I have to mate," he struggled with the word almost as much as she had, "then I will mate and be done with it."

Beverly pressed closer, insinuating herself between his knees. Placing her hands on his thighs, she slid them up towards his waist. His response was instantaneous. His pulpils dilated, his breath caught in his chest and a slow hiss, nearly a whimper, escaped from his lips.

"Respecting my idiotic fear doesn't mean I want you to die for me," she whispered, pressing her cool cheek against his fevered one. Swallowing before she finished, Beverly closed her eyes. "I can't, I mean, I don't--" She would have to say it, just not yet. "If it were me-"

"It's not you," he sighed, forcing the words from his throat.

"You would do anything I asked of you," she reminded him, sliding her head around so her forehead rested on his. The heat of his body radiated into hers and his hand caught her waist. Hs fingers barely had any weight against her, but they were there. "Let me help you," her plea was nearly desperate. Her self-control teetered on the edge of reason. His was nothing short of a Herculean effort.

Two shuddering breaths passed and neither of them spoke. He smelt deep, almost earthy, and the longer they stayed in contact, the more Beverly knew she wouldn't be able to step away.

His hand closed tight on her waist, strong fingers digging into her flesh through her uniform before he pulled it abruptly away. "I couldn't go back," he croaked. "I couldn't be as we were. That wouldn't be fair to you."

"Not fair?" Beverly asked, shaking in disbelief. How could he be so selfish? Forcing down her initial surge of anger, she raised her hands to his face, cupping his head between her palms. "Losing my best friend is unfair, watching you die, knowing I could help you--" His skin was soft beneath her fingers but the heat of it made her instincts tremble. "I trust you. I've always trusted you. Dammit, Jean-Luc, this time, trust me."

* * *

"Lieutenant Vorsic and I will initiate a mental link between you," Selar explained, standing between them in the Captain's quarters. "If you were Vulcan you would initiate it yourselves, however, do to its importance in relieved the Pon Farr, we will attempt to assist you. The link allows for the formation of the mating bond, essential to the relieving of the fever."

Lieutenant Vorsic, a veteran security officer with grey in his black hair, nodded his head once in agreement with Selar. The logical part of Jean-Luc's mind reminded him that security, like medicine, was a discipline that required great discresion. "We will be mindful of your privacy. Our joining will be brief."

Jean-Luc released the death grip on Beverly's hand that he'd held since she'd arrived from her quarters. A small bag sat near the bed, he presumed it contained her clothing, but it, like Selar and Vorsic's presence were mere formalities. She was here with him, and the idea of their contact made every part of him tremble with excitement.

"With your permission, Sir," Vorsic said, then took a chair in front of him. He extended his hand towards Jean-Luc's face.

"Yes, yes," he began to snap, but Beverly touched his hand, tracing cool fingers down his wrist. Taking her hand again, he closed his eyes and sat on the bed next to her. Her fingers toyed with his own, then relaxed as Selar made contact and began the meld.

Vorsic's touch meant little compared to Beverly's and Jean-Luc ignored the ritual words until his lips formed them with Vorsic in unision. He was not alone. Within the fire raging in his thoughts was a peaceful presence, like a leaf separated from a lake of fire, Vorsic drifted through his mind without touching it. Jean-Luc turned his head, finding Beverly smiling at him shyly. Selar and Vorsic changed position, exchanging the presence of their hands. When Selar made contact with him, she was a second leaf, a spot of green floating over and above the fire in his belly.

Beverly's lips moved, together with his and the two Vulcans he no longer paid any attention to. Her lips were bright red, still moist from a nervous tongue. Fascinated by their motion, Jean-Luc pondered their touch to his own. He wanted them, more than he'd wanted the _Enterprise_, or the Academy, even his next breath. Her lips stopped moving and her bright blue eyes caught his gaze and held it tight. As if a string passed between them and pulled taunt, Beverly's eyes pulled ever closer to his own.

She was in his thoughts. She had been before, on Kesprytt, when their thoughts floated between their minds, regardless of their will. This was different. While that had been a sharing of images, fleeting memories and emotions, this time he felt as if he were sharing her very essence. Beverly was part of him, as Sarek had been. The green faded from his thoughts and far away and, as distantly as if it happened on the other side of the universe, the door to his quarters hissed open then shut.

Beverly's fingers, still cool but warming in contact with his own, wandered up his wrist then moved to his cheek. "Are you nervous?" she asked, running her fingers across his lips.

"No," he whispered, reaching slowly for her neck. His thumb slipped along her collarbone and into the hollow at the base of her neck.

She shivered and the strange sensation rushed up the back of his spine as if it were his own thrill of anticipation. "Must be me then," she murmured, tracing her fingers down then around to the back of his collar. "Jean-Luc," she said, slipping closer on the bed. Her leg touched his own and she tugged the zipper on the back of his jacket. He held still, letting her free it from his shoulders and arms. Her hands lingered on his arms, then dropped to his thighs. "It's all right," she finished, returning to that shy little smile. "You can take it off."

With her permission, he stripped her of her jacket in far less time. Reverent, yet impatient, he ran the flat of his hands over her breasts. Exploring them with gentle fingers, he heard the breath catch, then turn to a sigh in her throat. Bringing his right hand up, he caught her chin. "I don't know what to say," he murmured, pulling her face closer to his own. Conflicting needs raged through him, like two forest fires fighting their way uphill to each other. The desperate desire to have her, to be within her, ached like continuing plasma shock but he would not rush this. He could not rush her.

Beverly leaned in, pressing their lips together. The heat of her lips felt greater than the fevered heat of his own. Breaking from them, he gasped in shock. "There are times even you are not expected to speak," she reminded him in a whisper that left her mark on his cheek. "I won't break," she insisted, and her tongue touched his upper lip.

Grabbing the back of her head and crushing her to him, he turned it into a commanding kiss. Pushing her back, turning her towards the bed, he stopped only long enough to drag her boots free of her feet. Jean-Luc peeled off his own, and returned to her. Beverly's hand caught his shoulder, pulling him over on top of her. The thin grey vest of the inner layer of her uniform clung to her breasts but gave way to his hand. He rested palm on her stomach, then let it slide it up to her heart. Beneath his hand, Beverly's heart beat nearly as fast as his own.

Her thumb ran over his cheekbone, gently possessing his face. "I want you," she promised sweetly. Beverly bent her knee and her leg ran against his hip. That manoeuvred him directly between her thighs. The ache to be within her, buried deep, was a new, white heat on top of the fever.

"I- I can't--" he choked, burying his face in her neck. For all the reasons he should be careful, go slowly and see to her pleasure, Jean-Luc could not fight his own desire.

Beverly kissed his chin, turning his eyes to hers. She stoked his cheek, eyes soft but without fear. "I understand," she promised, kissing him deeply. She guided his hand to her breast, whimpering into his mouth as he kneaded the soft flesh. "I trust you," she whispered, lips still against his.

Sitting up against his chest, Beverly stripped off the thin grey vest covering her skin, and Jean-Luc freed her hips from her trousers. One of his hands cupped her sex, making her gasp in surprise. The heat of his hand and the gentle but insistent pressure intensified the building ache between her legs. Tugging his trousers off, she fit him between her own bare legs. The turgid pressure of his sex pressed against her thigh through his shorts.

Rubbing her hands down his back, Beverly yanked his thin shorts off. All that was between them was her own bra and underwear. His strong arms passed around her, removing her bra with one deft movement. As it fell to the floor, he grabbed her hips, pulling her into his lap. His fingers were rough on her hips, jerking her panties down her thighs, over her knees and off.

One of his hands rushed down her inner thigh, parting her sex. His fingers were dry against her, and they disappeared for a moment before returning wet from his mouth. He kissed her while he slide them in. Jean-Luc's other hand passed across her breasts, clutching them both in turn before that hand went to her shoulders and pulled her closer. He kissed down her neck, sucking her breast before returning to kiss her again. His thumb pressed against her clit, circling it until she moaned into his mouth.

His lips moved, perhaps in another apology, but Beverly shook her head. "It's just been awhile," she whispered. She kissed his neck, then nibbled across to his shoulder. Now his fingers slid wet and deep within her and Beverly arched up into him in surprise. Jean-Luc's fingers moved in and out, opening her up for him. His eyes were above her, holding her in the moment between them. Always intense, his hazel eyes were an eternity. Beverly bent her knees back, guided by his hands. He shifted, aligning himself between her thighs.

He was ready and his cock pressed against her, hot, hard and insistent. Her right leg passed between their faces and then rested against his chest. He kissed her again, silently asking permission for what he was about to do. In spite of the haste and desperation, Jean-Luc was there. It was undeniably him holding her cheek. All that she hadn't been able to say: the fear, the regret and the terrible possibility that something between them could go right, was with them.

Beverly nodded, sitting up to kiss him. Sucking his lower lip, she sent her tongue deep into his mouth. He kissed her back desperately, pausing a moment before he buried himself deep within her. The initial shock rippled through her, and she moaned into his ear. The friction of him, and the tight, almost-pain of his cock pushing in made her whimper. The grunt of pleasure he made in return made her smile.

She caught him, digging her fingers into his back. Beverly was still beneath him, looking into his eyes for something. When she found it, she smiled and her eyes closed for a moment. Finding the peace of being with him, she opened her eyes upwards and sighed contentedly. "I'm okay," she whispered. "Jean-Luc-" she paused again, and a breath passed before she finished, "I-"

He bent down, kissing her upper lip in a slow contemplation. The pain of his desire faded, taking the sense of desperation with it. He was with Beverly and they were together: minds, hearts and mostly urgently, their bodies. Reaching up for her knee, he helped her hold it tight to her chest. Jean-Luc thrust once, deep into her. Her groan of pleasure came from her stomach, and the pain faded into heat. He was quick, powerful and went ever deeper as they continued. Jean-Luc's hand left her knee and balanced on the bed. He was on his knees, moving in and out. His eyes darkened, but he stayed with her.

"I know," he finished her thought from an eternity ago. "I love you," he murmured in reply. Of course she loved him. It was obvious both in her thoughts and the racing of her heart.

Holding his shoulders and digging her fingers into his back, Beverly clutched him close. Sweat broke on his skin, covering her in his scent. Her own sweat came later, when the heat of his fever slipped into her. The nearly forgotten connection the Vulcans had tenuously forged between them raged into the forefront of her mind when his need bled through. Maybe that was the point, some kind of telepathic understanding she would never quite grasp. He stuttered, losing his rhythm and pressing her hard into the bed.

With a final, shuddering jolt, he came inside her. The pumping of wet ejaculate into her made him spasm a few times before he slumped over her, letting her leg fall back to the bed. Beverly stroked the back of his neck. Running her fingers over the neatly cropped hair there. The stretch in her thighs relaxed away and the weight of him on her right side was comforting. She was content, and a faint buzzing held her body in a warm cocoon.

His breath slowed and his skin was perceptibly cooler. She wanted to scan him, make sure he was all right, but she couldn't reach her tricorder. Beverly also didn't want to move. His hand rested on her chest, just before the curve of her breast. His forehead pressed against her cheek and when his breathing calmed, Jean-Luc started to roll off.

She held him in place. "I like this," she offered in soft explanation.

Jean-Luc smiled, then sighed as if the weight of the universe was fading. "As do I."

A kiss on her cheekbone followed the admission, and she turned to give him a better angle to her lips. Playing his shoulder, Beverly idly searched his eyes. "How do you feel?"

Chuckling, he kissed her lips more provocatively before answering. "Incredible." The pause expanded like a supernova and finally Jean-Luc rolled away from her to look up at the ceiling. "Beverly, I don't know where to begin."

Propping herself up on an elbow, Beverly shook her head, then wrapped herself around his side. He only took a moment to welcome her with an arm around her naked back. Kissing his chest, she ran a hand over the grey hair covering his musculature. "I made a decision," she reminded him bluntly. "There's no need to apologise."

"Still," Jean-Luc sighed and kept his eyes upwards. "I may have said a few things-"

She flicked a finger into his chin to silence him playfully. "I liked what you said."

"Beverly?"

This time it was a plea for information instead of forgiveness. Lifting her head, she gazed down at him and knew in her heart it had been right. "Have you considered that I may have saved your life for selfish reasons?" Beverly gently kissed just beneath his collarbone for emphasis. "Perhaps that your presence in my life is so crucial that I'd do anything to keep it." Another kiss on his cheek meant to soften the possible barb of her tongue. "Good sex is hardly much of a sacrifice."

Now Jean-Luc held her cheek with a hand, sweetly studying her. "I didn't hurt you?"

"Having gone a few years without sex is a long way from pain," she answered, leaning down to kiss his overly concerned lips.

His hand ran up and down from her hip to her shoulder, stroking her affectionately. She hadn't expected anything less of Jean-Luc. All of his feelings, everything that had drifted through their link was genuine. He truly loved her, and, like an idiot, she'd fled from him.

Beverly closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, chuckling in confusion. "And why are you allowed to apologise when I am not?"

"It took a brush with death for me to stop being afraid," she said, swallowing. Splaying her fingers out on his stomach made him startle, and he caught her hand.

"I still think I would have been fine," he retorted.

The gall of him even suggesting it got her head up so she could glare at him. Jean-Luc's eyes glinted wickedly, and he tugged her down to kiss her. Falling onto his chest, she slipped her leg between his. They had paused long enough for him to start to harden again and this time she tightened at the thought. Kissing him slow and greedily, she started to breathe faster.

Now that she was damp with sweat, his hand slid easily across her breast and toyed with a nipple until he had teased it erect. Beverly sighed, sliding herself over his thigh. "You would have died if we went to Vulcan."

He pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger and grinned. "Perhaps," Jean-Luc taunted. Flipping her over neatly in a move he must have perfected in his youth, he pinned her beneath him. "Good thing we'll never know, isn't it?"

Torturing her other breast, he waited for her to moan before he slid his hand down. Now that the fever had broken, he was in control. Barely sated; still full of desire, and in control once more. Jean-Luc obviously had ideas when he parted her legs. He licked down her thigh, nuzzled her stomach and then lazily traced her kneecap with his tongue. He worked lazily down, taking his time. When his thumb finally parted the lips of her labia, it slid slick over her clit.

Moaning gratefully, Beverly reached down until she caught his shoulder with her hand. Wrapping the other in a fist in the sheet, she gasped when his mouth made contact. The slow heat of his tongue soon had her writhing beneath him. One of his hands held her pelvis down in place and the other reached in and up, curling two fingers in deep. He definitely knew exactly what he was doing.

Her breathing quickened, then she wasn't able to do anything but moan and sigh in ecstasy. Gripping his shoulder only edged him on, and Jean-Luc's punishing tongue worked her deep into the throes of a shuddering orgasm. The joint sensation of screaming blood flow and exquisite heat of his mouth made her head snap back. He pulled away but returned a moment later, this time at her side with strong arms around her chest.

Beverly caught her breath with her forehead pressed against him. The slow spiral down from climax took its time, and he held her close. Kissing her forehead occasionally, he toyed with her damp, tangled hair. Easing the knots out amused him, and his gentle smile waited for her when she changed their positions to straddle his stomach.

"I've wanted this for awhile," she confessed, resting her hands on the hard muscles of his shoulders. Jean-Luc grabbed her hips, squeezing her flesh. Beverly slipped down, rocking her hips as she moved down to grind across his swollen, ready cock. When he hissed in anticipation, she grinned impishly. "If I had known..." she teased.

"We've always been here," Jean-Luc said, propping himself up on his elbows for a kiss.

"Then we're idiots," she decided, pulling her hair back before she kissed him. "The pair of us."

He groaned as she slipped him inside of her. After his talented tongue, she was wet and yearning for him. With the time to recover, he was firm and full. Now that they'd both been through the first act, the rest of the night had incredible promise. Finding a rhythm and a speed that worked for both of them took a few moments. Learning where to put their hands and which body parts to nibble and suck, all of that would come. The second time was easier as they found their sync.

Jean-Luc was strong, and her sense of balance was a definite asset. She leaned back, arching her back and keeping him firmly inside her. Changing the angle drove her wild, and the more she moaned and dug her fingers into his hips, the deeper he thrust. He caught her head, pulling her down to see her eyes. Looking at him and the dark intensity of his hazel eyes did something the purely physical could not do. Clinging to him, Beverly choked on a final cry of release and slumped on his chest. Loosing himself within her again, Jean-Luc held her tight, grunting into her shoulder when he came.

Thoroughly sweat-drenched, they lay tangled, both looking up past the grey ceiling and the stars beyond. Jean-Luc kept playing with her hair, stroking it gently across her neck. Her leg was tossed across him, and his free hand rested on her back. It was still early, if they could drag themselves out of bed for supper they could easily... Beverly giggled at the thought and Jean-Luc kissed the top of her head.

"What's in your bag?" he asked after they agreed they were still at warp four. The starlines crept by in rainbows and they'd finally managed to go beneath the sheet.

Beverly snuggled in closer. Spent and utterly contented, she sighed lazily. "Another uniform, my hairbrush, toothcleaner, nothing that exciting, I promise."

"Does that mean you'll stay?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Kissing him quickly, Beverly shifted back down. "Perhaps. Sneaking through the corridors late at night is for ensigns and crewmen isn't it?"

"It might be beneath your dignity," Jean-Luc suggested, tracing circles over her shoulders. "I'd be honoured if you stay."

She had found her own path across his stomach and winked up at him. The softness in his eyes answered all the questions she didn't want to ask. "Would make breakfast easier," Beverly reasoned.

"It may," Jean-Luc agreed, easing her head up to nuzzle her cheek. "I'm certain we'll have time to work out the logistics."

"Oh, certain, are you?" she teased, pulling back when he went to kiss her. "Do you intend on a repeat performance in seven years?"

Laughing freely, he kissed her mouth even as she protested. "I believe it was you believe who told me even Vulcans mate between the Pon Farr."

Playfully trying to smack him off, Beverly shook her head. "You don't listen to me."

"I do when it might be able to make use of it later," he admitted with a devilish grin. "Though, I must say you are very distracting when you speak."

Her continued complaint was swallowed into another kiss. They played with that for awhile, enjoy the taste of each other like a delicacy recently discovered.

"I have something you'll listen to," Beverly promised him, now nearly astride him again.

He held her waist, raising his eyebrows in polite anticipation. "Try me."

She leaned slowly down, pulling back as if she'd changed her mind twice before she finally reached his ear. "Jean-Luc," she began, finding his hand with her own and intertwining their fingers. "I love you and I will for seven, fourteen...even seventy years." As he held her tighter, Beverly was only happier than she'd said it.

Jean-Luc's voice was thick with feeling when he replied. "I'll always love you." He held her whole body tighter to him, emphasising the point. "Always."


End file.
